


Blizzard (Teaser)

by TheHuggamugCafe



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bad Ending route, Corrupt!Akira, Corrupt!Arsène, F/M, Finger Sucking, Glove Kink, Leather Kink, Light breathplay, Mementos (Persona 5), Mild Akira/Reader, Persona!Arsène, Possession, Praise Kink, Reader-Insert, aged up AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:14:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27484831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHuggamugCafe/pseuds/TheHuggamugCafe
Summary: The rebellious “other self” of Akira, Arsène, has been acting strange as of late.The winter storm doesn’t seem so cold in comparison.
Relationships: Arsène (Persona 5)/Reader, Kurusu Akira/Reader, Persona 5 Protagonist/Reader
Comments: 8
Kudos: 60





	Blizzard (Teaser)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fleeting_fantasy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleeting_fantasy/gifts).



> This isn’t a part of my _Weather Forecast_ series; I will only post the full thing there.
> 
> This is a “stand alone” of sorts. This was my first musing for corrupt!Arsène, so I’m merely testing the water here, in a manner of speaking.
> 
> This is my gift to fleeting_fantasy, who has been such a supportive friend ever since I first began throwing my bits of nasty trash her way on Tumblr way back when.
> 
> This is my heartfelt thanks to you, fleeting_fantasy. I will forever be grateful for you; I would never have picked up writing again, if I didn’t stumble across your blog.
> 
> A quick but welcomed shout-out goes to my friend, DragonsInkwell (Lafrenze), for assisting me with the summary. Much thanks, hon!

Five fingers. A palm. The feeling of leather.

That was what you felt skimming across your face, the skin of your cheek dusted with a rosy hue.

“Beautiful,” a voice cooed in your ear, hissing the word in a way that reminded you of your sweetheart.

The voice that hissed sugarcoated words—the voice of a male, a man—was nostalgic in the way it crooned sweet, sweet words of temptation to you; the octave was as soft as silk, but the words were as smooth and dark as sin itself.

It was so similar to his—actually, it _was_ his and yet at the same time, not _his_ voice.

The frizzy hair was _his_.

The black-garbed thief outfit was _his_.

The leather-covered fingers that stroked your skin were _his_ ; the crimson palm that cupped your blushing cheek was _his_.

The smirk that bared a teasing hint of pearly whites to you was _his._

You swallowed a glob of saliva, one that felt like it was the size of a tennis ball. You felt it slithering down your esophagus before settling in the pit of your stomach, where it flip-flopped in worry and barely contained excitement.

You stood facing the wall, but always kept staring over your shoulder, irises peeking out from the slits of your mask.

Everything you took in was his, _his_ , _**his**_ , and yet… And yet…

The obsidian and gold-tinted crimson eyes that stared at you were clearly _not_ his own.

They weren’t the eyes of your beloved, Akira Kurusu.

Your boyfriend’s eyes were like onyx gems that had been hit by a deep freeze, chilling when he glared, but lively and passionate when he was alone with you—however, a lukewarm tenderness lurked in _Akira’s_ eyes, and yet his gaze was as intense as ever. The warm obsidian that possessed his irises was overshadowed by a hint of marigold that was tinted red, the colours mixing as red slowly became the dominant hue as it drew near to his pupils.

“My, you’re _shivering_ , dear rose.”

It was true.

You were _indeed_ shivering, and thanks to the current season being winter, it was no small wonder why chills possessed you. It was no small wonder _why_ you were shivering despite being dressed appropriately, or as appropriately as you could for the weather.

The piercing chill of winter could be felt even at the deep depths of Mementos where you and your darling currently were, and a shudder shook you as the wind whistled as it whispered down the dark, winding tunnels. For a moment and only a moment, you wondered if it was the screams of Shadows you were listening to, the disembodied voices you _thought_ you heard every now and then, or the terror-inducing shrieks of the Reaper that reached your ears.

The sound of chains rattling still sent chills down your spine, and made a ball of quivering dread settle in your stomach.

Thankfully, you were in a rest area, so there was no need to worry; there was no chance of Shadows _or_ the Reaper appearing, and catching you two off-guard as a consequence of your lax behaviour.

You took in a breath of icy air through your mouth, the inhale cutting off as the gloved hand gently wrapped around your throat.

Cold perspiration formed on your crown, causing strands of hair to stick to your sweating forehead, and yet you felt hot under the collar as a leather thumb lightly pressed against your windpipe. The touch was so soft, so fleeting, and so light that you shouldn’t have been able to feel it at all—but you _did_ feel it, in fact.

He was close.

_Close enough to feel the warm exhale that hit the back of your neck._

He was close.

_Close enough to feel the heat his body gave off so freely._

He was close.

_Close enough to feel the hilt of his knife—still sheathed in its holster—poking your side._

He was close.

_Close enough to feel how his body seemed to fit yours perfectly, it was almost like you were created for him and he was created for you._

“A-Arsène—”

You were cut off from speaking, but not by the gloved thumb pressing harder on your windpipe; rather, a noise that was between a gentle coo, accompanied by a teasing hiss, stopped you as it slithered into your ear canal.

“Ah, ah, ah~. No, _ma chère_. Such mannerisms will not do.”

That, and the swift change in what was in your peripheral vision stopped you from speaking any further. One moment you were facing the wall, irises staring at the thick, vein-like lines that crawled along the wall, slithered around the fluorescent lights and over the ceiling like fat crimson worms.

The next moment you were facing him, feeling your chin being held in the crook of gloved fingers and slowly, oh so slowly, your face—and your masked eyes—was tilted up to stare into the smirking visage of your boyfriend.

 _No!_ you mentally seethed, shaking your head as best as you could.

_He is **not** Akira._

His hair was black, silky, frizzy, and soft to the touch, just as it always was.

_He is **not** Akira._

The small, barely-there smirk that curled his lips drew you in, just as it always did.

_He is **not** Akira._

The way the underground tunnel lights ghosted over his face, gently highlighting his features and giving his skin an unnatural glow; he shifted now and then, and as he moved, the gold buckles of his thief attire glinted ever so softly underneath the tunnel’s lights.

_He is **not** Akira._

The way he exuded an aura that was as confident as it was mischievous; an aura that was as malicious as it was brimming with false chastity.

_He is **not** Akira._

The sheep that stood before you concealed a wolf, a carnivorous beast that eyed you hungrily after you—a bright-eyed and shy little lamb, something that you wouldn’t deny being in the present moment—had foolishly decided to enter its den, _alone_.

Your breathing was harsh, leaving you in deep pockets as sweat trickled down your crown that was damp with perspiration; you sucked in a breath that chilled your lungs as the Persona who inhabited your boyfriend’s body, Arsène, breathed a laugh into your ear.

You swallowed a gulp, one that you swore was the size of a tennis ball. You felt a few stray beads rolling down your cheeks, down your shoulders as you remained rooted in place, shaking.

“Now… I would very much love to see how well the boy has trained you…”

Behind the slits in your mask, your irises glinted underneath the fluorescent lights that glared down on you and Akira— _no, no, **Arsène** ,_ you mentally corrected yourself—from above, shimmering with the emotions that waged a war inside you.

Your breathing was shaky, hitching whenever you inhaled or exhaled. Your face and eyes were hot, and yet your fingers and palms were clammy, wet with cold sweat.

You swallowed a second gulp, a thicker one as your masked eyes flicked down to your jaw, watching as a leather finger trailed over skin where your mask didn’t cover it. For a moment and only a moment, your treacherous body betrayed a shudder—worse, a chill danced up and down your spine as the tiniest of moans slipped from your trembling lips.

On one hand, you scolded yourself for reacting so strongly to Arsène’s whims.

But, then again… 

On the other hand, a part of you reminded yourself that it was only natural.

How many times had your boyfriend, Akira Kurusu, been in his phantom thief outfit as he teased you so relentlessly?

How many times had you and Joker come to Mementos without your friends, slithering off to one of the safe areas for some _“relaxation,”_ as your sweetheart often coined it?

How many times had you felt glove covered palms holding your blushing cheeks as your lips were peppered with quick, hot kisses?

How many times had you felt leather fingers stroking your sweating, shivering skin in the past week alone?

Honestly… You stopped bothering to keep count; it wasn’t like it mattered in the end.

However…

A laugh pulled you from your musings. A chuckle that was as light as the wintry air that threatened to rob all sense of warmth from you, and yet it was a snicker that was as heavy as the unease that quietly possessed you.

Warm onyx irises peered down at you as Arsène breathed a second chortle into your masked visage, the enchanting mixture of gold-tinted crimson and obsidian twinkling with amusement.

“My, that was surprising… I did not expect to hear such a noise from you so soon, Treasure.”

You blinked, slowly, before your eyes steeled and shot the worst possible glare you could at the Persona that possessed your darling.

“I’ve barely begun to touch you, and yet I’m affecting you _this_ much? I’m honoured, truly.”

A hint of mint made itself known to you, lingering in the chilly air as a warm laugh hit your face.

“I want to hear more of them… Those soft, lovely little noises you make… Can you do that for me?”

Your mouth opened, lips parting to make way for heated words to roll off of your tongue—only to feel the smooth texture of a leather thumb pressing on your lower lip, the gentle touch surprising you.

You froze as your legs turned to jelly, staring up into a tri-coloured gaze and watching as a smirk touched the corner of the young man’s mouth, curling at the edges.

“This is your first _**command**_ , _ma chère_ ,” Arsène purred, staring into your shimmering irises as for a moment, the gloved thumb traced over the soft, plump flesh of your lower lip.

You knew what was coming. Goddammit, you _knew_ what he would tell you to do first.

And yet… And yet…

You still parted your mouth open a bit wider, displaying a hint of pearly whites and the pink tongue that was inside the moist and bleak oral cavern. Arsène hummed, sounding pleased at your compliance as a gloved thumb—followed by a leather covered forefinger—slowly slipped past your lips, and entered the dark and wet space between your cheeks.

“ _Suck_.”

Slowly, oh so slowly, the organ that was inside your mouth—your tongue, slick with saliva—slithered out, carefully stroking the smooth leather that covered Arsène’s thumb. The Persona did nothing but breathe a soft hum, sounding very much like a curious cat that was in the presence of its owner, waiting to receive a treat and attention.

“What a good girl you are.”

You took a moment to quietly wonder how often you had heard that line and that title from Akira.

How often had he hissed how much of a good girl you were as you shivered and moaned beneath him?

How often had he cooed how adorable and so, _so_ good you were as his gloved hands stroked your warm, blushing skin?

How often had he promised you that you were in for a treat, a reward for being his obedient girl as his leather fingers touched you with a tenderness that surprised you?

But even so…

Arsène was _not_ Akira.

_What are you doing?_

A voice in the back of your mind hissed, the quiet words giving your submissive passivity—as well as causing the moving tongue to freeze, stopping from further slipping past your lips—a momentary pause, resulting in a slow and owlish blink from you.

For a moment and only a moment, darkness became your acquaintance as your eyelids closed before slowly, oh so slowly, they opened and upon doing so, you found yourself staring up into the face of your sweetheart.

You took a moment to shake your head, pursing your lips as your brows furrowed, pinching the slant of your eyes as there was a noticeable shift in your expression.

 _Arsène is **not** Akira!_ you mentally seethed, your quiet words laced with hot poison.

“Give. Akira. Back. _Now_.”

For a moment, Arsène was surprised as he breathed a low, drawling “hm?” as he leaned back, taken aback at how icy and precise your request— _no, no, my **demand** ,_ you mentally corrected yourself—was to his ears.

For a moment, the Persona who possessed your boyfriend looked as astonished as he sounded; the expression he wore as his mask, literally, suited the emotion that shone in his gaze.

However, the mask soon slipped, discarded as utterly useless as a small smirk touched the corner of his mouth, and a flash of white was bared to your scowling face as a teasing croon left his smiling lips.

“Not even a “please give Akira back now”? Such harsh words are unbecoming of you, my dear.”

“I will _not_ repeat myself, Arsène,” you hissed, baring your teeth in a snarl as you spoke.

Finally, to polish your heated but sincere declaration off, you straightened your shoulders, raising your chin so that your eyes remained locked with his.

You watched as a frown slowly took hold of his lips, and a glint of disapproval passed through his colourful eyes—his damned and beautiful eyes that quietly glowered down at you, cutting into you like a knife would slice through hot butter—as he leaned in close to you.

He was so close that his hot breaths fanned your face, so close that his lips ghosted against yours as he hissed honeyed words of sweet nothings, but there was no way you missed how shadows may as well be leaving his mouth as he spoke.

“I don’t think you’re in any position to demand _anything_ from me, dear rose. After all…”

You stiffened, sucking in a breath and watching as Arsène raised a hand, cupping a flushed cheek in a gloved palm, holding your blushing cheek between leather-covered fingers. You took a moment to silently curse your stuttering nerves, your quivering breaths, and your shaky resolve.

And yet… And yet…

You clung to the stubbornness that washed over you; you grasped at the quivering, yet boneheaded resolution that coursed its way through you like a naturally flowing river.

“I am your darling Akira as much as he is me; two sides of the same coin, if you will.”


End file.
